by Alex C Vick
"I'm fine," I told him. "Well, I think I am. I feel fine."
"I'm afraid you'll have to face the Detection Spell again," said Vidian. "Perhaps tomorrow. After two direct spells, we can't be too careful."
"Two spells?" said Art.
"Your mother recorded the use of a Truth Spell two days ago."
"What? On Serena, you mean?" said Art.
"Yes," said Vidian.
"Why? Why would she do that?"
Art's voice was rising.
"She thought Serena was of age," said Vidian calmly. "It was not the same as the deliberate offence committed by your grandfather just now."
"Her age is not the point," said Art, scowling at his father.
I agree with Art. Was Vidian really suggesting the use of a Truth Spell would have been fine if I'd only been a little older? Either the use of influencing spells was commonplace here or the stakes were very high.
"You're thinking with your emotions, Art," said Vidian. "Please try to remember there is always a greater good."
"It's all right," I said before Art could react. "Thank you, Mister Bavois. Tomorrow will be fine."
I was pretty sure I wouldn't hang around that long. The intensity with which Gentus talked about my magic had been off-putting to say the least.
Vidian took two rectangular pieces of engraved parchment from his pocket and placed them on the table. I couldn't read the purple and silver letters from where I was standing, but I guessed they were our permits. "I'll leave you to it. But I meant what I said, Serena. I will report my father's crime."
Art muttered something that sounded a lot like "no" and "point" with a word in between I didn't recognise but could guess was a Xytovian swear word.
"That's enough," said Vidian sharply.
"Help me to understand," said Art. "Why is grandfather so fixated on an ordinary bottle of lumien?"
Vidian hesitated. "It's not ordinary. Beyond that, I can't say."
"Of course," said Art, turning away to hide his expression. "Don't let us delay you."
As soon as Art and I were alone, he said the swear word again and made a face.
"Sorry," he said. "I just…" He went to the window and braced his hands against the glass at shoulder height, taking slow deliberate breaths. His magic expanded, covering him from head to toe in shimmering purple-and-silver energy. "Sorry," he repeated.
"It's OK," I said. "You did so well to keep it hidden while they were here."
He looked at me over his shoulder. "I'm nowhere near as good as you. My grandfather was right in your face, and he never suspected a thing."
I smiled. "I've had more practice. On the downside, it made his spell all the more effective."
Art straightened up, rolling his shoulders. The glow of his magic diminished. "I actually lied to them," he said. "I was so angry."
"With good reason," I said, picking up my drink and taking a sip.
"You don't think I'm emotionally unstable? What I just did was classic high-risk behaviour."
I set down my glass with a bump. Liquid sloshed over the edge onto the table, and I projected a gentle Cleaning Spell to stop it from spreading.
"It would be weird if you hadn't been angry," I said, going to stand behind him.
"The thing is," he said, tracing a circle on the window with his finger, "my grandfather has to believe the board would consider his spell justified, otherwise he'd never have projected it. I just wish we knew why."
"They won't tell us," I said.
"No. At least we know you won't get mage-sickness."
I didn't answer.
Art turned to face me. "What is it?"
"That Detection Spell," I said, rubbing my arms.
"What about it?"
"I felt it on my way into the city," I said.
"Felt it, how?"
"It made me feel like I was going to throw up," I explained. "Or pass out. Or something. It only stopped when I suppressed my magic."
We looked at each other.
"You don't have mage-sickness," said Art. "You can't."
"I agree it's unlikely," I said. My voice didn't come out with as much confidence as I intended. Something else was bothering me too. If Marty had passed out from the Detection Spell, why hadn't his parents shown any ill effects? Surely their reaction would've been all the stronger given how sick they were.
Art ran a finger inside his shirt collar before impatiently opening the buttons he'd fastened when his grandfather knocked at the door.
"I have an idea, but"—he made a face—"I'm definitely still thinking with my emotions."
"Good," I said.
"It's not safe for you to stay here," he said.
"Are you asking me to leave?"
My heart sank. I wasn't ready to say goodbye.
"Yes," he said. "But I'm also asking if I can come with you."
15 A Plan
Too stunned to answer, I said nothing. Art talked quickly, as if he thought I might interrupt him before he could finish.
"Hear me out. It doesn't have to be permanent. Maybe we could spend today researching—Xytovian magic, mage-sickness, and so on. Then we need somewhere safe to hide while we put the pieces together. I… What is it?"
I couldn't contain my smile any longer.
"Does this mean you agree?" he said, smiling back.
"Yes. I would have suggested it myself, but I never thought you would do that."
He paused. "I might not have. Before I met you."
"I still like you," I said in a rush.
"I still like you too," he said, giving me one of his shy smiles.
My tongue might as well have been stuck to the roof of my mouth. I couldn't think of a single thing to say. Art cleared his throat.
"So… shall we make a plan?"
I stared at him. You can just kiss me. We don't have to plan it. Suddenly I understood his meaning and swallowed a squeak of horror as I realised how close I'd come to embarrassing myself.
"Serena?" he said.
"Y-yes, a plan." I looked down at my boots, hoping my face wasn't quite as red as I feared it was. "Um… I think we should make the most of the time we have before your grandfather gets back. My whole I'm-from-another-world story can probably wait until we're actually through the portal."
He blinked. "Right. The portal. Er… how much travelling time will we need?"
"None."
"What is a portal?" he said.
"Like a doorway made from magic. Once I've created it, we step through. It's easy."
"A doorway," he repeated. "So it's sort of like mage-glass."
"Is it?" I asked.
He laughed. "I don't know. I'm guessing. I'll show you some later and we'll compare. There's mage-glass in the base of the tower, but I've never crossed the segregation line before."
"If there's a segregation line, how do people get around if they have kids?" I asked.
"Slowly," he said. "But the three main territories are all on the same land mass and there are rivers connecting the larger settlements. The boats run every day. Besides"—he shrugged—"mage-glassing is expensive. Not everyone can afford it. There are other priorities."
I remembered Peric's bitter words: No one can survive without credit. Had he meant it literally? Androva had a system of currency too, and material wealth could certainly make life more pleasant. However, a magician would never depend on currency. His or her magic was more than enough.
Terra, on the other hand, no longer had any magicians. Yet a purse of gold coins was not a prerequisite to survival. People had access to natural resources, their skills were wide-ranging, and they were also tenacious.
While I was thinking, Art went to the library. He stepped inside briefly and reemerged with a pen and paper. "Grandfather will be in his meeting for a while. We should wait for him to leave before we start sneaking around. Shall we make a list?"
"A list?" I said, still distracted.
"For today. Things to do. So we don't forget."
&nbs
p; "Good idea," I agreed.
I stood next to him at the kitchen counter. He chewed the pen for a few seconds before bending over the paper. He wrote confidently, holding the pen in his left hand and making short sharp lines in purple ink. After less than a minute he'd listed seven things.
1. Visit clinic / return bag / check Ricard family
2. Mage-sickness cure
3. Gallium dagger
4. Tower library: research Detection Spell?
5. My assessment
6. Mage-glass
7. Portal / Serena's world
"What have I missed?" he asked, turning his head.
"Nothing, I don't think."
He's risking a lot.
"Are you sure?" I said. "I'm really grateful that you saved me from your grandfather's questions, but if we do all this stuff, you'll never be able to take it back."
Art put down the pen and turned to face me. "Have you changed your mind?"
"No," I said immediately.
"Then there's nothing else to say. You've decided for yourself and I've decided for myself. Anyway, I'm a magician now, remember? I already passed the point of no return."
I ducked my head guiltily. That was my fault too.
"Serena, it was an accident," said Art. "And I wouldn't change it for anything. Maybe I'm being selfish, but I'm not giving up my magic now."
"Of course not," I said.
"Yet the Board of Mages would expect me to do exactly that. I want to understand why, and preferably before I have a Gallium Dagger at my head."
I tried not to picture it. "You really think they'd do that?" I asked.
"The last unbonded magician in Vayl was centuries ago, but thanks to our history lessons, everyone knows what happened to Lara Crillion and her parents. She was sixteen, like us. Her family's magic was removed in the main square in front of a large crowd."
I gaped at him. "Why?"
"To make an example. To prove that the magical families were still committed to the pact despite the Crillions' offence."
"The poor girl. And her parents. How humiliating."
"Humiliation was the least of their problems," said Art. "They didn't survive the procedure."
"They what? They died?" I said incredulously. "Just because she wasn't bonded?"
I thought about what the book on the Five Tenets had said about the transition to cotidian. "Twenty percent risk," I said, remembering. "They were unlucky."
"Not really. The dagger is usually fatal to magicians. Once they have a spark, I mean."
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. "So they were executed. That's what you're saying."
There was a short silence.
"Wait," I said. "You think the same thing would happen to you?"
Art shrugged. His face was pale. "Possibly. I don't know. My parents care for me, but they always do the right thing. And their emotions don't get in the way."
"That's so messed up," I said forcefully. "People—magicians—are supposed to have emotions."
"Even if they interfere with good judgment?" he said. "I don't disagree with you, but there's been no fighting between magicians since the bonding ceremony was introduced. The results speak for themselves."
"Huh," I said, making a face. "No one starts a fight when they're asleep, either—doesn't mean I want to live in a coma for the rest of my life."
Art stared at me for a second, then he laughed. "I've never met anyone like you."
"Yes," I said, my tone sarcastic. "I'm sure all your other friends are much less outspoken and accident-prone."
He lowered his gaze. "Well," he said, tapping his fingers on the counter, "I don't have any friends."
His body was rigid with tension, as if he expected me to say something that would hurt him.
"Art."
He looked up, his expression wary.
"I'm your friend, aren't I?" I asked.
"I… I hope so," he said.
"I hope you're my friend too," I said.
"Yes," he said, "but you probably have lots of friends."
"Of course I don't."
Art blinked. "What?"
"I wouldn't be exploring a strange new world all alone if I had loads of friends and a perfect life waiting for me somewhere else."
Understanding dawned on his face. "I guess not," he said. "It's just… you're so sure of yourself."
"Not always. I'm far from perfect. But my starting point is very different to yours."
"How so?" he asked.
"I don't have a scorecard in my head running me down all the time."
"Neither do I," he protested. Then he gave me a reluctant smile. "Not all the time. The thing is," he went on, "I've always been an outsider, and when Maxia died I kept to myself. I had no need to attend lessons, and there were only five underage magicians I spoke to regularly."
I frowned. "That's not many kids in a city the size of this one. Oh. You said underage magicians. What about cotidians?"
"Magicians are educated in the tower. We don't associate with cotidian children," said Art.
"At all?"
"At all," he confirmed. "Vayl is a safe place to live because of rules like that. And I doubt the cotidians' children care. They always seemed happy to me."
Happier than he had been was the unspoken suggestion.
"We should go to the clinic," he said. "Grandfather should have left for Phidiom by now. How's your ankle?"
"Fine," I said. "I'll be careful on the stairs though."
Art folded up the list and put it in his pocket along with his pen and the permits Vidian had given us. I went to collect Savra's bag.
"I guess I can't give them the lumien," I said. "I feel bad. I think they could really use it."
"What lumien?" said Art.
I explained about the other bottles I'd filled with my magic outside the city.
"We'll swap them," said Art. He went to the end cabinet. "Look—I have plenty. What size do you need?"
"Ideally, a two-mystron bottle and two one-mystron bottles," I said. I placed the two empty bottles on the counter.
Art handed me the replacements. When I looked up, he was hovering by the bathroom door. "I should—"
"Or I could show you the spell," I offered.
After a second's pause, he agreed. "OK."
"You'll need to come closer," I said when he didn't move.
He walked up to me and stopped a few feet away. I shook my head.
"Closer?" he asked.
"We don't have to do this," I said. "You seem worried."
"A bit." He folded his arms. "I have literally never been on the receiving end of a direct spell before."
"I'll be gentle," I said, grinning.
He shuffled a little nearer.
"On the count of three," I said, readying my magic. "One." Before he had time to become any more nervous, I projected the spell.
"Hey," he protested, his voice muffled by a spinning silver cloud of magical energy. A few seconds later, he reappeared with a slightly stunned look on his face.
"Well?" I asked. "How do you feel?"
"Um," he said, blinking.
"That's not an answer," I said.
"No. Yes. I mean… no," he said.
I was just starting to worry that my magic had harmed him somehow when he smiled.
"That spell is indescribable," he said. "In a good way. You have to teach me."
"I'd love to," I said, smiling back. "Maybe we could exchange spells later so I can learn some Xytovian magic."
We walked down the stairs slowly. There were sounds of talking and footsteps in the corridors as we passed the other floors, but we didn't actually meet anyone.
"The clinic is the easiest thing on the list," said Art, pausing by the archways. "We have permits and although it's not quite what my mother had in mind, she's unlikely to object. As for the rest… we'll just have to be careful."
We were halfway to the main doors that led to the square when someone called our names. Petro was a
pproaching from the direction of the opposite staircase, waving his arm. He was a little out of breath.
"Ammartus. Serena. I'm so glad I caught you. I was just at your apartment but there was no answer."
"Is there a problem, Petro?" said Art. "We're on our way to the clinic."
"I know. Madame Bavois sent me."
"Really," said Art, his face expressionless.
"There will be a procedure this morning. She wishes you to observe," said Petro. "I am to take Serena on a tour of the city."
I struggled to keep my disappointment from showing. So much for our plan.
"Serena stays with me," said Art.
Petro blinked. "Excuse me? I said Madame—"
"I heard you," said Art.
Petro's surprise was absolute, and it was hard to keep a straight face. He glanced from Art to me and back again. Perhaps he thinks this is my influence.
"As I told my father," Art went on evenly, "I think it's only fair to show Serena everything. There's a lot more to the sponsorship model than she will see on a tour of the city."
"But Serena will not require the procedure," said Petro. "Surely…" He trailed off in the face of Art's scowl.
"Serena has received two direct spells since her arrival two days ago," said Art. "My father already suggested she face the Detection Spell again."
"I'm sorry," said Petro. "But even so, I doubt Madame Bavois will allow it."
Art smiled. "We won't know unless we ask her, will we?"
Petro sighed. He walked toward the doors, beckoning for us to follow him. Art leaned in to whisper to me. "The procedure is the cure for mage-sickness. It requires the use of a Gallium Dagger, and it carries a twenty percent risk of fatality."
"Like the transition to cotidian," I said.
"Yes."
We emerged into bright sunlight beyond the doors. It was a beautiful morning. The flagstones were half in shadow, as the sun wasn't yet high enough to clear the buildings on one side of the square. Although there were fewer people than on market day, it was busy enough, with comings and goings and the sound of laughter and conversation.
"Why would your mother want you to watch something like that?" I said to Art, keeping my voice low.
"She probably thinks it will help me to decide."
